


April's Babies

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Harriet is sick and it's Jackson's job to take care of her for the day. Cuteness ensues; even the best get the flu sometimes.





	April's Babies

I’m jolted out of a deep sleep by an ear-splitting, indignant cry from the baby monitor. I inhale sharply and jump, capping a hand over April’s shoulder. “Baby,” I murmur, out of habit. 

I’m not sure if I’m addressing her or naming the source of the sound, but either way it wakes her up. 

“I’ll get her,” I murmur, rolling over. 

“No,” she says. “I know that cry. That’s a cry for Mama.”

I chuckle halfheartedly and lie on my back with my hands on my stomach. “You sure?” I ask, making no move to get up as she walks across the room to pull her robe on.

“Looks like you’re moving pretty fast,” she says, giggling. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Even though the alarm is about to go off, I fall back into a light sleep. Only for a moment though, before I hear April walking back into the room with a whiny baby. 

“I think she’s sick,” she says as I open my eyes. I see her standing next to the bed, bouncing Harriet who’s still whimpering. “I tried to nurse her, but she didn’t wanna eat. Her diaper is clean... I don’t think she slept, Jackson. She has dark circles under her eyes.” 

I rub my eyes and sit up. “What’s wrong, buggy?” I ask the baby. “You sick?” 

“Feel her forehead,” April says. I touch the back of my knuckles to Harriet’s little forehead and keep them there for a moment, pondering. 

“She does feel a little warm,” I say. 

“I know, right,” she says. “I want to take her in. I have a huge day ahead of me, but I can cancel-”

“I’m free,” I say. “I can take her in, get her checked out.” 

“Yeah?” she asks, kissing the baby’s forehead. “You don’t mind?” 

“April, I’m her father,” I say. “It’s not something I ‘mind.’”

A smile undoes the creases on her forehead. “I know,” she says. “Okay, I’m gonna go get ready then.” 

April tries to hand the baby to me, but when she lowers her body into my arms, Harriet screams her head off and reaches back for her mother. 

“Mama!” she screams, face pinched and upset. 

“Well, that makes me feel great,” I grumble, half-joking. 

“Mama has to get ready!” April says. “Hattie, go see Daddy.” 

She tries to hand her off again, but Harriet holds tight around her neck and screams like she’s being murdered. 

“Honey!” April says, bouncing her some more. “It’s okay. I know, I know, you don’t feel good.” She sighs and I get of bed, arms extended. “No, it’s fine,” she says. “I’ll just keep her on my hip while I do my makeup.”

“April,” I say. “Seriously?” 

“When you’re sick, you just want your mom,” she says. “I’ll make it work.” 

And she does, somehow. It shouldn’t surprise me, because she’s surpassed even my high expectations when it comes to being the best mom around. She somehow keeps fussy Harriet in her arms while she does her hair and makeup, and even while she gets dressed, but once she’s all ready there’s no more putting it off. 

Still in my pajamas, I linger by the front door while April puts her shoes on. 

“Don’t wait too long to bring her in, okay?” she says. “I don’t want her fever getting higher. And try to get her to eat, even a little bit. Definitely to drink water, that’ll be good for her. And-” 

“Go,” I say, swiftly lifting Harriet out of her arms. “Your patient won’t wait. I got this.” 

“You got this?” she asks, and the baby reaches for her and starts to whine.

“Yes,” I say. “Go, before World War III starts.” 

She stands on her tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek, then gives Harriet one on the head. “See you both at the hospital in a while,” she says. “Feel better, buggy.” 

Once she leaves, Harriet breaks out into full-out sobs. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to center myself through the noise. I know it’s not her fault, she doesn’t know how else to cope, but she’s about to blow my eardrums out.

I walk around the house, patting her back rhythmically. I go through what makes her feel better, and remember what April always does at night while Harriet nurses - she sings.

“Your daddy can’t sing like Mama can,” I say, though I’m not sure she can hear me over her shrieking. “But I’m gonna try. Okay? Have any requests?” 

She blubbers, taking in hiccupy breaths as she looks at me with glassy eyes. 

“No?” I say. “Okay. DJ’s choice.” 

I clear my throat and start to sing. 

“Just a small town girl… livin’ in a lonely world… took the midnight train goin’ anywhere…” 

She stops crying, a full stop, and just breathes while staring at my face.

“You like that?” I ask.

But upon the song stopping, she works herself up and starts to wail again. 

“Oh, no, no, no!” I say, and clear my throat to start back into it. “Just a city boy… born and raised in south Detroit… he took the midnight train goin’ anywhere…” 

She sticks her middle and ring fingers in her mouth, which is always a good sign. It’s something she does when she’s sleepy to soothe herself. She blinks slowly, swallows hard, and continues to watch and listen to me. 

So I don’t stop. I sound like shit, but if it gets her to stop crying, I won’t stop.

“A singer in a smoky room… the smell of wine and cheap perfume… for a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on… strangers! Waiting! Walking down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night…” 

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh, eyelashes fluttering as her green eyes search my face. She keeps sucking on her fingers, concentrated heavily, and I keep singing. 

“Streetlights, people… livin’ just to find emotion, hiding… somewhere in the night…” 

I keep going at a softer and softer level until she rests her head heavy on my shoulder. Her breaths start to come easier and slower, and her body goes slack on my chest. 

I let out a long, relieved sigh. I can do this. I’m a great dad. 

I can do this. 

I sit on the couch and turn the TV on, hoping that if Harriet didn’t sleep through the night like April predicted, she’ll stay asleep for a long time now. But I also know that I need to get her to the hospital to get her checked out, so this fever doesn’t sit here and fester all day. Which means I need to get in the shower. 

I stroke Harriet’s back over her onesie and contemplate how to do this. I get up slowly and with difficulty, trying not to wake her, and she doesn’t stir as I walk to mine and April’s bedroom. I look at the throw pillows stacked in a corner by the wall, struck with an idea.

While holding the baby with one arm, I make a pillow cage with just enough room for Harriet to lie in the middle. After it’s set up, I lower her into it as carefully as I can. I back away on tiptoes, keeping watch just in case she wakes up, and my stomach jolts when she stirs with a creased forehead. 

But she comforts herself by sticking her fingers in her mouth, then falls back into a deep sleep.

I shower and get ready faster than I ever have before. When I come out, Harriet is still asleep. I brace myself as I know I have to change her into clothes that aren’t pajamas and get a fresh diaper on her, and she’s going to scream her head off. 

“C’mere, sweetheart,” I say, lifting her into my arms. “There we go. Daddy’s got you.” 

She settles against me as I take her into the nursery, but when I start unsnapping the buttons on her onesie, she wakes up fully and starts kicking and putting up a fight. 

“I know,” I say, and get it off of her as quick as I can. “But we can’t have you out in the world with a dirty diaper and last night’s PJs. Mommy would have our heads.” 

She coughs through her tears, and my heart breaks for her. She’s really sick, and I hate seeing her this way. Usually she’s happy and giggly, up for anything. Now, the tiniest things are setting her off.

I change her diaper and get her into flowered leggings and a white long-sleeved shirt, and she can barely catch her breath she’s crying so hard. 

“One more thing, one more thing, I know,” I say. “Daddy’s the worst. I know. But Mom doesn’t like you leaving the house without a headband…” 

I find one that matches her pants and put it on her, even as she tosses her head and tries to fight me off. 

I get her to the car as she screams and buckle her in, then look in the rearview mirror as I back out of the driveway. 

“A singer in a smoky room!” I sing, a little louder so she can hear me over her cries. “The smell of wine and cheap perfume! For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on…” 

She rubs her eyes with her squishy fists and catches her breath, but still whimpers. I keep singing for the whole car ride, even when I pick her up and hold her on my hip as we walk through the parking lot.

“Workin’ hard to get my fill, everybody wants a thrill… playin’ anything to roll the dice just one more time…” 

I walk through the automatic doors and the first person I see is Richard. I give him a nod and he shoots me a confused look as I walk over, still singing. 

“Some will win, some will lose… some of ‘em just sing the blues… Hey Richard,” I say, bouncing Harriet. She notices right away that I’ve stopped and starts whining quietly. “Seen Alex? I need to get her checked out.” 

“Down the hall,” Richard says, bemused. 

“Oh the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on… thank you!” I say, casting the words over my shoulder. 

Moments later, we’re with Alex in an exam room. He’s already taken Harriet’s temperature and vitals, even through her cries. 

“Strangers waiting, walking down the boulevard…” I sing, bouncing her on my hip. 

“Dude, stop singing,” Alex says. “I’m trying to tell you what’s up here.” 

“I can’t,” I say. “You told me to stop while you examined her and she screamed her head off.” 

“You’re telling me that the only thing that calms her down is her dad’s crappy singing?” He scoffs. “Low standards, kid.” 

“Usually, April does it,” I say. 

“I’m sure she’s better than you,” Alex says, eyeing me. “A dying cat is better than you.” 

“Shut up,” I say, humming. 

“Your kid has the flu,” he says, tearing off a sheet of paper with his signature on it. “Put her on antibiotics. She’ll be fine in 24 hours. If she’s not, bring her back. You know the drill.” 

“Thanks, Karev,” I say, and walk out of the exam room to run right into April. 

“Honey!” she says, grabbing my upper arms. Then, she looks at Harriet. “Honey,” she says, much softer. Harriet whimpers and fusses for April, reaching out until her mother takes her and holds her close. “Mama’s got you,” she says, then looks to me. “So, what’s up?” 

I hold up the sheet of paper. “Flu,” I say. “I’m gonna fill this prescription.” 

She chuckles and kisses the baby’s forehead. “Richard told me you might have lost your marbles,” she said. “That you were singing. Is that true?” I shrug, frowning and shaking my head. She looks at Harriet, who’s tucked her face into her neck. “Is that true, princess? Was Daddy singing to make you feel better? Did he do that for you because he’s the best daddy in the world?”

“Karev said I sounded like a dying cat,” I say. “Wait, no. He said a dying cat would sound better than me.” 

“Oh, that’s mean,” she says, then gives me a kiss. “I gotta go, okay? Here, take buggy. Remember, make sure she-” 

“We’re gonna drink so many fluids,” I say. “So many.” 

She smirks. “I love you,”  she says. 

“Love you,” I say as she walks away. 

***

The next morning, my eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred points each when I try and blink them open. I concentrate on April as she walks lightly into the room, wearing her purple robe and holding Harriet on her hip.

“Oh, you’re up,” she says. “Good news. Buggy’s fever is down!” 

I sit up halfway and can barely open my eyes. My stomach feels screwy and my whole body aches. 

“Oh, no,” April says, walking over to press the back of her hand against my forehead. “Uh-oh.”

“What,” I mutter. “I think I’m dying.” 

She flashes a breathy smile and sits next to me, resting Harriet on her opposite thigh. I lay back down, and she strokes my head in the way she knows I like while she softly sings, “Just a small town girl… livin’ in a lonely world…” 


End file.
